


watch your head (and watch the ground)

by Ethereally



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: KuroKen on the side, Life After Death AU, M/M, guardian angels au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7675924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereally/pseuds/Ethereally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When someone dies trying to save someone else's life, they are brought to Heaven as an angel. After dying to save Bokuto from a freak drunk driver, Akaashi doesn't think he'll ever see him again, until he is given an assignment to recruit his best friend too. </p>
<p>Old feelings resurface, and Akaashi comes to learn that people can grow up a lot in six years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	watch your head (and watch the ground)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arsenicjay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsenicjay/gifts).



It isn’t often that angels are ordered to their superiors’ offices, and even more uncommon that they are called upon to recruit one more for their numbers. It is even rarer that a specific angel will be asked for to perform a recruitment—and the Recruitment Bureau doesn’t make it a habit to pick and choose. 

So when Akaashi receives an e-mail from Kuroo asking for him, and particularly _him_ to go to his office, he knows he that this is important. He rushes down the hallways, taking the second left and then a quick turn to the right. Akaashi raps on Kuroo’s door, and a sly, catlike voice rings out from the other end.

“Come on in.”

Akaashi pushes the door open. Kuroo is lounging behind his desk, reading his collection of human newspapers from the next week. He puts the paper down when Akaashi steps into the room, giving him a nod. “Nice outfit,” Kuroo says, and Akaashi flushes. Kuroo’s suit is, as usual, freshly pressed, with an obnoxious popped collar. It somehow manages to look good on him, which is even more distressing, and Akaashi is suddenly self-conscious of his plain grey and white getup. 

During his mortal life, Akaashi would never have thought that heaven would be full of attractive people all wearing suits. Somehow, with someone like Kuroo at the helm of the Recruitment Bureau, this idea makes a lot of sense. Kuroo gestures towards the seat across the table and Akaashi sits down, noting how soft the cushions were, how smooth the velvet. Kuroo snaps his fingers, and a cup of tea and a saucer of four Tim Tam biscuits appear on the desk in front of Akaashi. He picks out one of the newspapers from the stack on his left, sliding it over and passing it to him. “Read the front page first.”

Akaashi skims the headline. It is from the New York Times, reporting on a terrible earthquake that will shake Brooklyn in two days to come. A chill runs through him as he reads the casualty list: one-hundred and ninety-five dead, over five hundred injured. He is about to turn the page of the paper before Kuroo suddenly pipes up, “You’re going to want to hear this from me.”

Akaashi sets the newspaper down, a sense of dread welling up inside him. Kuroo’s brow is crossed and his tone is uncharacteristically somber. Most of Akaashi’s superiors have been rendered apathetic towards the deaths that result in the birth of an angel: they consider it a cause for celebration. As one of the more recently dead Akaashi knows that this is not necessarily such. There are people back on earth who will mourn the now-angels’ deaths, family and friends who lie in bed unable to sleep because they miss them. Kuroo takes a deep breath.

“You know why you became an angel, right?” 

Frown lines mar Akaashi’s forehead. “I saved my best friend’s life.” They had been out after a volleyball match in high school when a drunk driver swerved off the road onto the pavement, and Akaashi had pushed Bokuto out of the way and taken the hit himself. That had been six years ago. The uneasy feeling inside Akaashi grows, ebbing through his veins, and a freezing grip grabs hold of the back of his neck. This can’t be good. “Is this… This isn’t about Bokuto, is it?” 

Kuroo nods, and Akaashi feels like he has been punched in the gut. 

His lips part to speak, but no words come out. A jumble of thoughts run through his mind: Bokuto is now—no, will soon be dead—he will perish in an earthquake while he is presumably on holiday, and Kuroo has brought him here to tell him that his previous effort had been in vain—wait, no, that wouldn’t concern the angels otherwise—wait, what—oh. _Oh_. Akaashi’s eyes widen, and somehow, he manages to string a sentence together. 

“He died saving someone and you want me to go and get him.” 

Kuroo nods, flipping the paper to the centerfold. Akaashi’s heart clenches as he sees the photo on the page, one of Bokuto from his high school graduation, smiling at the camera with pride, glee, and a certain determination that burned in him, one that Akaashi had always loved. The headline reads, “Tourist Dies Trying to Locate Child in Neighborhood School; Koutarou Bokuto, 24, Remembered as a Hero.” Definitely angel candidate material, and the sort of human being Kuroo likes to recruit for their numbers. Still, Akaashi shakes his head in disbelief as he speaks, softly. 

“You know how attached I am,” he says. “You know how much he meant to me. I sacrificed my life for his—wouldn’t you want someone else to pick him up? Someone who won’t get like,” Akaashi gestures to himself, “This.” He is aware that his display of emotion is far from that of most human beings, and universes away from Bokuto Koutarou’s, but he still feels like a disaster. He isn’t sure how he’s going to react when he sees Bokuto again, how he’ll express the words left unsaid. Akaashi bites the inside of his cheek. 

Kuroo smiles back with a strange warmth. The look in his eyes is oddly soft, a far cry from his usual devilish glare and shit-eating grin. Even his tone is oddly gentle as he explains his reasoning, “I just thought it might be nice for Bokuto to wake up and see his best friend.” 

Ah.

Akaashi swallows the lump in his throat. Memories of their high school days come rushing back; Akaashi talking Bokuto out of his mood swings on the court, Bokuto calling Akaashi late at night to see if he wants an extra lunch. Akaashi walking by Bokuto’s house every morning before volleyball practice, fetching their team’s ace before they show up at school together. He supposes it is only apt that he goes to pick Bokuto up one more time. Akaashi’s eyes meet Kuroo’s, whose smile is still unwavering.

“I take it you’re going to The Lake of Souls to retrieve him in two days?”

Akaashi just nods.

 

The Lake of Souls is calm, a layer of silver stardust cast over murky grey. Akaashi peers into it, barely able to make out his reflection on the surface, though he can still see white light peeking through from the bottom of the water. He’s made it here in good time. Akaashi removes his suit jacket and casts it haphazardly on the ground, taking a deep breath before diving in.

Angels don’t drown like humans do. They don’t need to breathe, don’t need oxygen to keep their bodies running and hearts pumping. Though with a human form comes human responses to situations, and being submerged in deep water is certainly uncomfortable. Akaashi does his best to hold his breath while he pushes through the deep water, passing by silvers of souls that have recently departed. Echoes of their final thoughts ring through his mind—their regrets, their hopes, their wishes for those that they left behind. Akaashi steels himself, trying to ignore the dull ache tugging in his chest.

Bokuto is in here somewhere. He’ll know him when he sees him. With that thought, Akaashi continues to push through the lake, swimming deeper and closer towards the bright light at the bottom. 

Darkness is starting to cloy around the edges of his vision, and it feels like wind is being sucked out from his lungs. The voices around him grow louder, stronger; the cries of the dying are so lonely, so pained. Akaashi frowns, trying to block the words out, trying to fight against the heavy, heavy sensation of water crushing against his body. The glow grows brighter and brighter with every push against the current. He is almost there. 

A flash of light suddenly jumps out of him, so bright that it is nearly blinding. He has to lift a hand to shield his eyes, and for a second, he almost feels like his heart’s stopped. 

Bokuto is there at the bottom of the lake, shining with radiating light. He is curled in a fetal position, eyes closed and a soft smile etched onto his face, so peaceful that he could almost be sleeping. There’s a strange, choking sensation in his throat as he swims closer towards Bokuto, one that he can’t seem to ignore.

Akaashi wraps his left arm around Bokuto’s torso, almost like he is giving him a hug. A tight, clenching feeling digs into his heart as he kicks through the water, swimming upward and pushing up, gasping as he treads the surface and takes his first mouthful of air. His vision clears as air slowly reenters his veins, and Akaashi turns to Bokuto, leaning down to whisper into his ear. “You aren’t alone any more.” 

Akaashi pulls away, frowning; he can’t help but feel a little silly upon whispering the words. Of course Bokuto isn’t alone. He’d never been alone. Not while Akaashi was alive because he was constantly surrounded by friends, and unless something had changed drastically after Akaashi’s subsequent death, that was likely to remain a constant. Then again, Akaashi can’t be sure. The death of a loved one could change people— he knows dying had certainly changed _him_.

Akaashi takes hold of Bokuto’s waist and begins to swim towards the shore, glad to be rid of the voices of the other recently dead. They will all find their version of the afterlife soon, be it reincarnation or heaven or hell, depending on what they believe in; not everyone is as fortunate to have died a death as virtuous as Bokuto’s, or as his own. Soon, they will be free from the anguish of having passed on. They reach the edge of the lake and Akaashi effortlessly lifts Bokuto up, carrying him further from the water and leaving him splayed out against the ground. He taps Bokuto lightly on the wrist.

“Wake up,” he murmurs. This is hauntingly close to what it used to be like in high school, when Akaashi would sleep over at Bokuto’s when they had volleyball practice the next morning. Both of them were once morning people, up and willing to face the day at six a.m.: now, Akaashi prefers to sleep in for as long as he can, downing cups and cups of coffee before he begins the day. It’s like peering through a window into another life. He gives Bokuto a light shake. “It’s me.” 

Bokuto’s eyes flutter open, staring into the clear, blue, sky. Akaashi hesitates for a split second. What if Bokuto can’t remember him, or what if he doesn’t want to? The thought goes right out the window as Bokuto splutters on a mouthful of water, coughing silver liquid from his lungs. Akaashi leans in to support him, pulling him upwards and giving him a pat on the back. Bokuto turns to stare at Akaashi, jaw practically falling open. “A- Akaashi? Keiji? I thought you were dead. Are you an angel--“

The edges of Akaashi’s lips turn up in a small smile. “I am.” 

_And so are you_ goes unspoken between the two of them. For once in his life, Bokuto is quiet, gaze completely fixated on Akaashi. A callused hand reaches out to touch Akaashi’s face and a strange sense of warmth kindles inside him, like setting fire to coals that have been left there for years. Finally, Bokuto pulls away, eyes wide with concern.

“The girl. In the earthquake. Do you know about her? Was she okay in the end?” 

Akaashi’s gaze turns to glance up at the sky. A light like a shooting star blasts across the horizon, pausing to form a single droplet of white liquid in mid-air that falls into the lake. Her final cries ring through the atmosphere, a heart-wrenching “Help me” followed by a quieter “Thank you”, and then silence. Akaashi turns back to face his childhood best friend: no, the best friend he’s ever had. There’s Bokuto’s answer.

Bokuto’s eyes well up with tears. He wraps his arms around Akaashi like he did when they were younger, buries his head in the crook of Akaashi’s neck, and starts to cry. 

 

“So, we’re here to fight ghosts and evil spirits and werewolves and stuff? That’s so. Cool.”

They are sitting on a couch in the lounge of the trainee department, going over the basics of being an angel and what it entails. Bokuto’s grin is so bright that it could run a third-world country’s electric mill for a week. Akaashi can’t help but smile back. Now that Bokuto has calmed down from the initial shock of dying young he seems to be quite enamored with the idea of being a supernatural crime-fighter, eyes brimming with glee as Akaashi goes through the manual. The uniform looks great on him as well: Bokuto looks great in his three-piece suit. Akaashi flushes, and the same warm feeling reawakens inside him. 

For a moment, he ponders saying something, ponders leaning forward and pressing his lips against Bokuto’s ever-so-softly. Perhaps he could muster up the courage to admit “I used to have the biggest crush on you and it might be coming back.” A burning sensation ignites at the tip of his ears, and Akaashi hastily flips to the next page of the manual. No. This is probably the most inappropriate time possible to bring up old wounds. What is he supposed to say, anyway? 

“Hey I just met you again, and this is crazy, but we’re both dead now, so date me maybe?”

Akaashi groans inwardly, and the tips of his ears flush even pinker. This is a clear sign that he’s been hanging out with Kuroo too much. Next thing he knows, he’s going to start declaring how kind he is to all of Heaven and Hell, or start actively keeping up with recent human Internet memes. 

Akaashi shudders, fixing his gaze, and his thoughts back onto Bokuto. He can’t help but notice that the years have treated him well. Bokuto is no taller, and slightly less muscular than he used to be; Akaashi ponders whether he continued playing volleyball after high school, but decides not to ask lest he brings up old wounds. However, there’s an air of maturity that was never there, a realer, more solid confidence in his wild gestures as he bombards Akaashi with a litany of questions. Bokuto is babbling on and on about whether demons were real (“yes, we just covered that”) and why humans couldn’t see them (“because our job is to vanquish them before they can hurt anyone”). He suddenly steels his gaze, slamming a hand dramatically onto the side of the couch.

“Akaashi, I have a very important question for you.” Bokuto grins. “Do aliens exist?” 

Akaashi has to cover his mouth to prevent himself from snorting. He leans in, whispering into Bokuto’s ear as if he is telling him a great and terrible secret. “Yes.” 

Bokuto’s eyes widen with glee. He pumps both his fists into the air, yelling far too loudly for it to be appropriate. 

“ _I knew it_!” he exclaims. “Oh my god. If only Oikawa knew. I’m sure he’d do anything to learn the truth… Ah,” Bokuto says, his face falling with the thought. He turns to stare at the floor, shoulders suddenly slumped, looking far more like the high school student that Akaashi once knew. “I don’t think he’s ever going to find out, is he?” 

Akaashi shakes his head, placing a hand on Bokuto’s back. The same sense of déjà vu from when they were at the lake returns to him, and they sit there for a moment in a wordless exchange. Even the name “Oikawa” is one he hasn’t heard in what feels like a hundred years. Akaashi says nothing, awaiting one of Bokuto’s downs or mood swings, waiting for him to make some sort of self-deprecating comment. 

Bokuto breaks the moment with a smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but the act alone is enough to make Akaashi jolt. The Bokuto he had known would never have been able to get there without some coaxing, some weaning, and a good dose of pumping up. Akaashi twiddles his toes in his leather shoes while Bokuto speaks. 

“I miss everyone. Is this how you felt when you first died too?” 

Akaashi nods in return. “Yeah.” Even listening to Bokuto talk is enough to make him miss home all over again: his younger sister, his volleyball team, and his parents, strict as they were. He shifts slightly in his seat. “How were they doing… If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Right now? Pretty good!” Bokuto says, and his eyes light up a little. “Yukie graduated top of our class and went to Tokyo University, and we still stay in touch. Saru’s working at his parents’ store. We’re still quite close. The two of them really helped me get through life when you…” His voice trails off. “You know.”

“Ah.” Akaashi fiddles with the cuff of his shirt. Something doesn’t feel quite right: he knows in theory that he should be happy that everyone was doing well, but there’s a piece missing in the puzzle. “How about my parents? My sister?”

Bokuto gives Akaashi a thumbs-up. “Hinoka’s doing well. Your parents… They really loosened up. Last I checked, she had a boyfriend. And your parents know. Can you imagine that?” 

Akaashi’s voice is fairly flat as he mutters, “Maybe.” A wrenching feeling twists inside him: he suspects that things may not have been that smooth, but he continues to speak. “Tell me more about you though, if you’d like. What have you been up to for the last six years?”

“Ah, I got a volleyball scholarship, so I went to university too! Who would have guessed, right?” Bokuto puffs up a little in pride, like an owl showing off its feathers, and Akaashi can’t help but think it’s endearing despite the stabbing feeling in his gut. “At first, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep playing, but I talked to Yukie and Saru and they said that was what you would have wanted. So I graduated… Somehow,” he laughs, “With a lot of help, it was kind of hard at first but it was worth it in the end.” Bokuto shrugs. “I’m not sure I’d have made it without Yukie, really. She’s a star.” 

Guilt stabs into Akaashi like a knife. He examines the tips of Bokuto’s fingers, nails blunt and stubby where he’d bit them from years before. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” Akaashi says softly. He hadn’t thought about how everyone was doing back on Earth for years, and talking to Bokuto is bringing waves of remorse crashing back. “I wish that I’d been…” Alive? Not quite, because his being dead is the only reason Bokuto managed to live for six more years after. So Akaashi leaves the words hanging between them, his deepest wishes left unsaid. 

Bokuto leans in, wrapping his arms around Akaashi and pulling him into a crushing embrace. 

“Aw man! Don’t worry, I got through, right? Because I’m the best.” He pulls away, giving Akaashi a wink. “Besides, you’re here now. I never thought I’d see you again!” 

Bokuto’s hug feels like warm sand on the beach, a summer’s day, and for a moment, the sinking feeling inside Akaashi ebbs. “Me too,” Akaashi responds as he pulls away, though Bokuto’s touch still lingers. It’s good to have Bokuto back. 

He realizes this means he’s glad that Bokuto’s _dead_ , and the sense of guilt returns, ten times stronger.

 

It has been a few days since that exchange, and Akaashi hasn’t seen as much of Bokuto as he would have liked. Bokuto has been largely busy with induction, which means that he’s mostly training with Kuroo and his team. (The thought of Bokuto and Kuroo interacting is one that Akaashi had never considered, and he doesn’t want to think about it too much for the sake of his own sanity.) Meanwhile, Akaashi has been in and out of Heaven on quick search and destroy missions. He nips in to report back and pops out back to Earth. This means that he hasn’t even really had the chance to sit down with Bokuto for lunch—the most communication they’ve had as of late has been through the angels’ instant messaging platform. 

Akaashi isn’t sure whether or not he’s missed Bokuto’s slew of unnecessary emojis. 

Finally, Akaashi is done with his sudden slew of missions, and the head of Spirit Deployment has given him strict orders to take at least a one-week break. Akaashi’s first instinct upon being dismissed is to message Bokuto and ask if he’s free to meet up, but is met with no reply. Two hours pass and Bokuto has yet to appear online. 

Akaashi squints at his phone screen. He guesses that Bokuto is probably still in training, or is busy chatting with Kuroo after he’s finished, going along with his plan to plot everyone’s inevitable doom. Akaashi sighs, flopping back onto his bed, dropping his phone by his side and staring at the ceiling. Well, if the latter is the case, it’s probably a good thing Bokuto is making friends. Even if said friends consist of somewhat questionable company. Akaashi sighs.

Speaking of company, Bokuto probably misses Yukie, Saru and the rest of their old friends. Akaashi balls up his fists and then unfurls them; he knows he’s certainly starting to miss them again, as well as his family. A sudden thought crosses Akaashi’s mind, and his eyes dart over to check his phone. Still no answer from Bokuto. 

That probably suits him just fine. Akaashi sits up in his bed, puts on his shoes and walks out into the hallway. If he’s so nostalgic for home all of a sudden, he supposes he can whet his curiosity himself. 

He passes by some of the lounges (and can hear two loud, guffawing voices that sound distinctly like Bokuto and Kuroo’s—well, that explains a lot) and takes a turn to the right, exiting the building and entering a tall, stately tower a few doors down from where the angels live. He comes face-to-face with mahogany shelves and shelves full of books, stretching farther than his vision can hope to see. On a massive high pedestal in the middle of the library lie millions of open tomes, self-writing quills recording every single moment in human history. Ahead of them sits a hunched-over, blonde man, and Akaashi walks up to him and offers a polite nod. “How are you doing, Kenma?”

Kenma glances up from the game console in his hands. Akaashi is pretty certain that Kenma hadn’t been alive any more when the PS Vita was invented, and he isn’t quite sure how he’d managed to get so addicted, but one thing that Akaashi has learned repeatedly since the moment of his birth is that it is useless to question people. Especially in the afterlife. Kenma raises an eyebrow at him, fingers still mashing the buttons of his game. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you in here.”

Akaashi flinches. Angels are flat-out banned from the archives hall for five years after they first arrive in Heaven, blocked out from it by a magical barrier designed to keep them from living in the past. He knows that most angels pay a visit to the archives hall in their fifth year of service—they check on their loved ones, or read the story of their own life. Most of them leave in tears, realizing that they can’t do anything to impact the people they care about any more. Kenma had flat-out told Akaashi when he’d first arrived to not bother until he was sure that he could handle it, and Akaashi was never one to ignore solid advice. Until now. Akaashi leans in against the counter, lowering his voice. “Did Kuroo tell you about Bokuto?” 

A flash of understanding crosses Kenma’s eyes, and he sets down his video game. The sounds of slicing and dicing continue to blare out from the console as Kenma turns to face the computer screen at the side of his counter, punching in the names, “Bokuto, Koutarou” and “Akaashi, Keiji”. He turns the monitor around so Akaashi can see, and the words “D-94620” appear on it in a dark, serif font. Kenma gestures towards the hallway in the middle. “Room 980, down that way.” 

Akaashi gets up from where he is standing. “Thank you, Kenma.” 

Kenma just shrugs, picking up his game console and resuming his game where the magic had left off. The words _ping me if you need to talk about it_ go unsaid between the two of them. Akaashi has to physically restrain himself from running down the hallway and settles on a quick march, eager to learn about what had happened after his death so many years ago. He reaches the specified location and steps into the oval room, eyes scanning the well-kept shelves of books for a familiar title. A part of him ponders reading up on his parents and sister, but he decides against it—he’ll take this one step at a time.

He pulls the tome with the words “Bokuto, Koutarou” engraved on its spine off the shelf before walking towards the couch in the center of the room. He thumbs the book’s blue velvet cover and gold embossed words, before opening it to a page in the middle. The tome somehow opens to the exact point in time that Akaashi is looking for. 

Reading about Bokuto’s reaction to his death makes him want to physically throw up. 

A chill travels up Akaashi’s spine. He isn’t sure why he wanted to learn that Bokuto hadn’t slept for days, or that he’d pulled out of school for the rest of the year in grief. There are photos of Yukie meeting Bokuto at his home, her coaxing him into getting out of bed, her having to physically drag him out of the house to meet the rest of their friends. Akaashi has to squeeze his eyes shut to stop himself from crying. Of course Bokuto would react this badly; Akaashi had given his own life to save his. Still, he can’t stop himself from reading, can’t stop the voice at the back of his head that whispers _“What have you done?”_

He flips the page, praying that he’ll soon read about a silver glimmer of hope. The first words to jump out at him are somewhat positive, and he heaves a sigh of relief.

Bokuto re-enrolls in school the next year, determined to finish up his education. Because of his circumstances he isn’t allowed to play high school volleyball any more, but he’s been offered a scholarship from a nearby university regardless. The only condition is that he must pass the entrance exams. There are photographs of him and Yukie hanging out near Tokyo University after her university classes, Bokuto nearly hidden behind a mountain of books while Yukie sips on an iced tea. Akaashi can’t help but smile at the image, and nearly laughs out loud at the next line of text: “Koutarou spent at least 30,000 yen on food, sweets, and other baked goods for Yukie as payment for her tutoring over the course of that year.” 

The next photo is of Bokuto, Saru and Yukie together at a party, and then there’s one of him drinking with some new friends. Then there’s one of Bokuto lying face down, drunk-crying on Saru’s bed, blabbering about how much he misses Akaashi. Akaashi skims the caption, presumably spoken by Saru. 

“You need to find another way to cope with your swinging feelings, dude.” 

Remorse grips Akaashi with a cold, merciless hand. Everything he’s been shown about this new Bokuto so far implies that he’d learned to deal with Akaashi’s death somewhere between this point in his story and Bokuto dying himself, but Akaashi pushes on, continuing to read. There is a paragraph about Bokuto visiting a school counselor, begging her to help him deal with his highs and lows, and his recurring nightmares about Akaashi’s death. She lets him cry into her arms, before writing him a referral to a mental health professional. The same pang of guilt stabs through Akaashi once more.

He turns the page. At least the next image is of one at Bokuto and Yukie at a UVERWorld concert, their faces illuminated by the light of glowsticks. Akaashi’s heart stops when he realizes that Bokuto and Yukie are holding hands. The two of them look indescribably happy. 

Akaashi feels himself paling as he continues to read about the couple. Bokuto and Yukie begin to date after his second year of university. It doesn’t last for very long, and the two of them decide they are better off as friends, but Akaashi can’t help but feel like he’s been slapped in the face. Of course Bokuto would date around; he’s always been extremely interested in both men and women, and people who identified as neither. Akaashi knows he should be glad—maybe—that Bokuto perhaps wasn’t smitten with him in return. That would have been yet another weight of grief that he would have had to deal with. 

The next picture is of Bokuto kissing a dark-haired, slender boy, and Akaashi can’t help but wish it had been him in the photograph. Akaashi swiftly turns the page, only to see a selfie of Bokuto and Akaashi’s younger sister Hinoka, the two of them grinning into the camera at an unfamiliar café. 

The text underneath the photo reads about how neither his family nor Bokuto had been able to face each other for years after the funeral, both sides not wanting to be reminded of Akaashi’s death. Then one day, Bokuto had sent Hinoka a text message, asking her if she wanted to meet for lunch. She’d accepted his offer immediately, and the two of them enjoyed baked rice and crepes over a fine Saturday afternoon. He’d told her to think of him as “your second big brother—not a replacement, but another one. You can rely on me!” Then another photo of the two of them, this time in a purikura booth. 

A small wave of relief sweeps over Akaashi. At least she seemed to be doing all right from the photos, even if the early days after his death must have been difficult. He wonders with a jolt if she has learned that Bokuto has died too, and hopes that this boyfriend Bokuto mentioned would help her get through it. Akaashi would find a way to end him if he didn’t. Somehow. 

He skims a picture of Bokuto holding the hand of one of his new friends as she is rushed to the hospital, and then a snapshot of Bokuto grinning at his university volleyball team, wearing the “Captain” armband proudly on his left bicep. Akaashi can’t help but swell with pride when he sees the photo of Bokuto and his parents smiling proudly at his graduation, along with his Facebook caption of “I can’t believe I did it!” 

The Bokuto in this part of the story seems so much more sedate, more mature than the one he knew. He still has the old Bokuto’s energy, his life and emotion practically bouncing off the pages, but there’s another quality to him that was never there before. Akaashi toys with the edge of his shirt. It’s a good thing that Bokuto has grown up for sure, but Akaashi never been great at dealing with change. 

There is a final photograph, one of Bokuto, Saru and Yukie in Narita Airport, captioned “On the way to New York!” Next to it is the newspaper clipping that he’d read a few weeks ago, the one from which he’d learned about Bokuto’s death. Bile gathers at the back of Akaashi’s throat and he slams the book shut.

His phone begins to buzz as though it is on cue—it is an instant message. 

**Bokuto K.** : akaashi, come join me and kuroo! we’re talking about you and having a great time. he knows ALL about you in high school now!!!! 

Akaashi feels his face flush. Oh god, no. The last thing he wants is for his boss to learn about the time he’d gotten into the shower and forgot to bring a towel. Or the time he’d gotten distracted by a cute boy while walking down the hallway and then crashed into a pole. He buries the waves of emotion from earlier, deciding that he’ll dissect and digest them in his own time. Right now, he has a best friend to handle, and a reputation to maintain.

 

Bokuto passes the training regimen in almost record time, and it’s only a month before he’s given clearance for his first mission. He and Akaashi are sent down to Hong Kong to slay a demon who has been been terrorizing the streets of Kowloon, haunting its residents, looming over them with a specter of negative energy. The two of them chase the creature as it slinks down a small alleyway, cornering it at the end. Three magical bullets in the middle of its chest and bam bam bam it is dead and gone, crashing onto the ground and dissipating into spirit energy. Bokuto slings an arm around Akaashi, giving him a bright grin. 

“We did it! I just killed my first demon. I’m so awesome,” he exclaims, leaning in and offering Akaashi a high five. “No, _we’re_ so awesome. You were the one with the plan. Get it cornered, shoot it dead. And you shot two of those three shots that hit it…” Bokuto frowns, “Come to think of it I really didn’t do that much at all, did I?” 

Akaashi shakes his head. “You helped.” With one bullet and a lot of moral support, but it was nice to have Bokuto back by his side. Even if this time, they were shooting demons instead of hitting spikes. 

Bokuto purses his lips. This is normally the part where Akaashi has to talk Bokuto out of a funk, to remind him of the great things he did to help out, and of the great things he later has the potential to do. He is ready to swerve in with some more words and a comforting pat on the shoulder, but Bokuto shrugs, and the smile on his face returns. “I guess one shot in isn’t too bad for my first mission.” 

Akaashi almost drops his gun in surprise. He slots the weapon back into his holster, turning back to face Bokuto. Bokuto is staring at where the monster used to be, watching as the remainder of its ashes soars into the sky. Finally, he pulls away, turning back to face Akaashi. “I’ve never been to Hong Kong. Can we look around and explore?”

The two of them soon find themselves wandering the streets of Tsim Sha Tsui, Bokuto marveling each and every time a human walks through either of them. Akaashi has to explain that even though they feel like they’re people, and can eat and sleep like regular people, they really aren’t; this is also to prevent someone from their previous life seeing them, or for someone to recognize Bokuto as the guy from the papers who died trying to save that kid. Bokuto nods, before whirling around and pointing at a barking dog.

“I don’t think that applies to dogs, though. Akaashi, Akaashi, he can see us. I’m pretty sure the puppy knows we’re here.” Bokuto says. The brown-haired mutt begins to bark even louder, and Akaashi squints. He supposes that Bokuto must be right. All dogs go to Heaven, but Akaashi hadn’t thought that the ones from Earth would be able to see angels as well. Bokuto nudges Akaashi on the side. “Let’s go pet him.”

Before Akaashi can respond, Bokuto is off, chasing the puppy down the street. He phases through groups of humans, walking through them like they aren’t even there, and Akaashi sighs. Perhaps some things don’t really change that much after all. Akaashi sighs, running after Bokuto. He has to admit that the idea of petting a dog isn’t entirely unappealing, though. When it comes to Bokuto, there’s something fresh and new almost every day. He’s missed it dearly.

The dog barks, weaving through the legs of a group of young men and then dashing down the street. Both Bokuto and Akaashi run through the men effortlessly, Bokuto laughing and Akaashi unable to keep a wide grin off his face. “We just want to pet you!” Bokuto exclaims, and Akaashi guffaws out loud. They run through a group of old ladies, and then through a couple and the park bench they’re sitting on. Akaashi pants. He knows that logically he can keep going, but his corporeal form is starting to feel a little out of breath.

“Are you sure—it wants to be—petted—”

“I don’t actually know!” Bokuto hollers, pausing in his tracks. They are smack in the middle of a busy street: people are jostling against them in all directions. Akaashi runs up to where Bokuto is, glancing around for any sight of the dog. The mutt barks at them cheekily one more time before ducking away. Bokuto huffs. “Dammit.”

Now Akaashi gets to give Bokuto his reassuring pat on the back, just like old times. “There are plenty of dogs up in Heaven. We can pet all of them.” Cats, too. Akaashi and Kenma had once wasted an entire day playing with cute baby kittens in a recreational room. It was awesome. Bokuto pouts, crossing his arms. 

“Do you think he just didn’t like us?” 

Akaashi shakes his head. “Bokuto, dogs love you, unless something has drastically changed. It was probably just shocked to see two people who were supposedly dead, that’s all.” Still, the chase had been fun if not tiring. He wipes some sweat off his brow—he’s all hot and sticky now, and he’s going to have to get this suit dry-cleaned. It was totally worth it. Bokuto slings an arm around Akaashi, and his heart starts to race as a small smile tugs at Bokuto’s lips.

“You’re probably right,” Bokuto says. “I had a good time, anyway. With you,” he adds in a softer voice, and something inside Akaashi melts. “It’s been so long since we got to just hang out like this.” 

Akaashi somehow manages to stutter out a “Yeah.” He looks up at Bokuto—their faces are so close that they can almost touch. Bokuto is grinning again, smiling like the scorching Hong Kong sun. And perhaps it’s how good Bokuto looks in the suit, or perhaps it’s the adrenaline, but Akaashi suddenly cups Bokuto’s face, leans in and gives him a quick peck on the cheek.

It takes half a second for Akaashi to realize what he has done, and he stumbles backwards, eyes wide with shock. 

“I—oh my god. I’m so sorry,” Akaashi stutters. Bokuto is gaping back at him, eyes wide. “I shouldn’t have done that. I really shouldn’t. I,” he can feel the tips of his ears, and his entire face turning crimson, “I know you aren’t interested, I know you still just died, I don’t know what brought this on,”

“Akaashi,” Bokuto begins, but Akaashi holds up a hand, not ready to let him speak. 

“I—I’m so sorry.” Fuck. He’d been so selfish. He’d been so intent on keeping Bokuto to himself, on holding him so close to his heart that he hadn’t stopped for a moment to think about what was best for _Bokuto_. “Let’s pretend that never happened.”

“Why?” Bokuto responds, blinking back at Akaashi in shock. “Why didn’t you just tell me—”

“Enough,” Akaashi spits. Panic grips him in an icy fist. He’d been enjoying Bokuto’s company, liked having him around, had fun when the two of them were hanging out in his room after hours and watching movies that hadn’t come out yet. And he’s been so selfish, leading Bokuto to think he had his old best friend back when Akaashi wants _this_ , wants more. “Let’s not pursue that thought.” 

What about the people who Bokuto left behind? What about Yukie, and Saru, and both his and Bokuto’s families, who had to mourn not once, but twice for people they cared for? Guilt envelops Akaashi in a morbid cocoon and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. So much for being an angel: he doesn’t even feel like he’s human. 

Bokuto grits his teeth. “I can make my own decisions about what I want, okay? I know I enjoyed that. I don’t understand the problem,”

“You don’t know what’s going on,” Akaashi says softly. “You don’t understand just how wrong this is.” He can’t tell Bokuto about what he’s seen. It’s been far too soon after Bokuto’s death; he would be devastated if he were to start thinking about how their friends would react after _he_ died. 

Bokuto’s voice is angry, harsh. “We aren’t back in high school any more! Trust me, I can take it. I can make my own decisions about what’s right for myself. I handled myself just fine for years--”

Akaashi narrows his eyes. 

“I’m sorry I died and left you to do it, then.”

Bokuto’s eyes widen, and a litany of apologies begins to fall from his lips, “Akaashi, I didn’t mean it,” and “Akaashi, I didn’t want you to feel this way,” but it is far too late. Akaashi feels like someone has shot his own magic bullets into him, bam bam bam, one two three, dead and gone; he snaps his fingers, and he is back in his own room up in Heaven, lying on his bed as though he had just woken up seconds ago. 

Akaashi buries his face in his pillow, and cries. 

 

Days pass and Akaashi goes through the motions. He signs up for missions, solo. He gets lunch and dinner with the other angel who lives on his floor, or alone. He lies on his bed watching movies by himself, staring at the screen but unable to concentrate.

When he really doesn’t know what to do, he walks over to the volleyball court. He doesn’t set any balls, nor spike them; he just sits there alone and stares. His instant messenger program is peppered with notes from Bokuto, begging, pleading for him to talk. Akaashi doesn’t answer.

He can barely face Kuroo when they pass each other in the hallways, or outside. He knows that Kuroo and Bokuto have gotten extremely close in an extremely short period of time, and doesn’t even want to think about what Kuroo must think of him now. 

It is Kenma of all people who grabs him in the cafeteria one day, tugging on the edge of his shirt with a, “Do me a favor and talk to Bokuto.” His eyes are narrowed and there is an uncharacteristic edge to his tone, and Akaashi stares at Kenma with utter surprise. Kenma sighs, adding a, “He’s been taking up a lot of Kuroo’s time. Angsting, wondering what he did wrong. Kuroo’s been telling him to talk to you.” Which is exactly what Bokuto has been trying to do—only _he’s_ the one who isn’t reciprocating. 

Kenma takes a sip of his carton of chocolate milk. “I don’t know what you saw in there, but so many angels have destroyed themselves by living in the past. Bokuto just wants his best friend back. I want to be able to talk to Kuroo without him worrying about either of you. Do us, and yourself a favor. Listen to Bokuto when you’re ready.” He finishes his chocolate milk, tossing it in a nearby trash can. 

“Bokuto’s made his choice. It’s up to you to do what you will with it.” Kenma gives Akaashi a knowing glance. 

_And you can always talk to me._

With that, Kenma walks away, pulling his video game console out from his pocket. Akaashi can only stare at him, gob-smacked—this is the most he’s ever heard Kenma say at once. His heart is thumping loudly, and his insides are churning with a sense of unease, but he knows that Kenma is right. Akaashi pulls out his phone, and texts Bokuto.

**Akaashi K.** : I’m sorry. Talk soon.

 

They agree to meet at a quiet spot in the lounge, on one of the couches tucked away in a corner. Bokuto is fifteen minutes late, as usual; he mutters an apology to Akaashi who just shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve that much. Not after all he’s put Bokuto through over the last six years, and especially after what he’s put him through now. 

Akaashi has always been a polite person. He says “please” and “thank you”, always finishes any food offered to him even if he dislikes the taste, and usually allows other people to finish speaking before he cuts in with an opinion. Then again, Bokuto has always had the ability to make him throw caution out the window, restraint to the wind. And even though Bokuto has parted his lips, clearly ready to say something, Akaashi knows it is important that he interrupts and speaks first. 

“I’m sorry for ignoring you,” he says, hanging his head. 

A tired smile appears on Bokuto’s lips. Now that Akaashi is so close to him he can truly see the toll this has taken on his best friend: angels don’t need to sleep but it certainly helps, and the bags underneath Bokuto’s eyes indicate that he hasn’t rested in a few days. He takes a drink from the paper cup he is holding, and Akaashi catches a whiff of coffee. “Thank you,” he says. “I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have said what I did, I really messed up there, didn’t I?”

“No,” Akaashi says. “There were a few things that you said but… I ignored you. I felt guilty, so I pushed you away because,” he pauses, “I thought I was selfish for wanting more. I thought it was best for you. It was wrong and I’m… I’m sorry.”

There is a pregnant silence between the two of them. Akaashi shifts uncomfortably in his seat—this is exactly what Bokuto was angry about, and he’d just come out and said that he’d been doing it. Bokuto takes another sip of his drink.

“I used to think you were perfect when we were kids. I used to think Akaashi was so cool, Akaashi knew best! Hearing you apologize is so weird,” he laughs, and the edges of his eyes crinkle up ever so slightly. “Because, it’s Akaashi! Of all people! You didn’t do anything wrong, but now I think about it and you did a lot of things wrong, and you saying sorry it—uh—” Bokuto scratches the back of his head, “It means a lot.” 

“You’re stronger now,” Akaashi admits. He looks down at his feet. “Less reliant on other people. I’m happy about that: I just don’t know how to deal with it, so I kept treating you the same.” His voice hitches in his throat. “I’m sorry. How…” He glances up, turning to face Bokuto and looking him in the eye. “How would you like me to treat you?” 

“I know what you can do! " Bokuto says, leaning in closer to Akaashi and lacing their fingers together. Akaashi feels his heartbeat grow louder, stronger as Bokuto continues to speak, because Bokuto is here and Bokuto seems to have forgiven him and _Bokuto is holding his hand_. "Let me look out for you. You've looked out for me for so long. You even saved my life, and then grabbed my soul from the lake another time after that! I think,” he says, smiling, “I think you’re super awesome, and I want to be super awesome in return for you. That's where I'd like you to fit in." Akaashi feels the strange warmth in his chest return. He decides he likes it. 

Akaashi squeezes Bokuto’s hand back, half in disbelief. “I… I don’t think I’ve changed that much. You are right. I’m far from perfect. In fact, I don’t think I deserve this at all.”

Bokuto shakes his head. “No, that’s not what I meant! That’s not true at all,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Okay, this is going to sound crazy, but when I ran into that school to try to find the little girl? I was thinking that it was the kind of thing that you’d do. So in a roundabout way, you brought me back to you.” 

Akaashi winces. “Actually… That’s what I was feeling bad about,” he mutters. Bokuto blinks back at him, and Akaashi grips his hand. He toys with Bokuto’s fingers. “This is pretty heavy, but I think you deserve to know.”

Akaashi starts talking, and the words just can’t stop. He talks about the archives, the files, the stories locked away. He mentions how he looked up Bokuto’s archive to learn about his life, how it was then when he realized that Bokuto had grown, and changed, and he wasn’t sure how to act around him any more. By then, he is shaking; there are tears in his eyes and his voice hitches in his throat. And then he gets to the last part, the worst part of all.

“I feel terrible for being happy to have you back,” he mutters underneath his breath. “I realized how sad you were when I was gone, and I… I thought about how much I missed you when I first got here, and how I thought I would never see you again. Then I realized that I was happy even though you—you’re gone from everyone else.” _And they’ll miss him, and they’ll cry, and they’ll wonder what life would be like if he was still around._ Akaashi wipes a tear from his face. Oh no, he is crying. God. In all his years of friendship with Bokuto, he isn’t sure whether Bokuto has seen him cry: it’s always been the other way round. “I feel like I broke everyone’s heart once by dying, and now I’ve gone and done it again.” 

Bokuto wraps his arms around Akaashi, pulling him in the tightest of hugs. Akaashi rests his head on Bokuto’s shoulder, taking in a whiff of his cologne. He smells different now, like cedar and citrus, but Akaashi still tastes summer and sunshine and something that he can’t quite place. Finally, they pull away, and Bokuto smiles. 

“You didn’t ask me to run into that earthquake, yeah?” Akaashi shakes his head. He buries his head in Bokuto’s chest again, and Bokuto envelops him in another embrace. “And think about it. You said I came out stronger. Everyone on the other side will come out of it super cool and awesome too!” 

Akaashi smiles, trying to choke back sobs. What doesn’t kill people makes them stronger—and sometimes, what kills people does too, he supposes. The thought makes him laugh to himself. God, he really has been hanging out with Kuroo too much. He squeezes Bokuto’s hand. 

“Then let’s get to know each other again.” Akaashi says, leaning in and kissing Bokuto square on the lips.

After all, they have the rest of eternity to do so.

(They aren’t alone any more.)

**Author's Note:**

> uh.
> 
> HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY? 8D I was thinking this would be about 2.5k words but... I'M CRYING... Sorry I'm not. Very good at writing either of these boys, hff, but I hope you enjoyed it at least a little! 
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH TO DOXY AND NATSU FOR HELPING ME. this fic would never have happened without either of you.
> 
> lastly, even though this was not directly inspired by it, i'm like 99% sure this would not have happened without this fic. please read this iwaoi which was written by icie who i love http://archiveofourown.org/works/5188691


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